Hellfire
by Watashi-wa-inori-tsuzukeru
Summary: I am called Zarastrasza. I am of the Red Dragonflight, a daughter of the Life-Binder. I am not like my broodmates. Where I walk, life withers, rather than rejuvinating; destruction, not preservation, is my art. My name is Zarastrasza. I am a Red with the powers of a Black. And I fear for my life. Semi-AU
1. Nightmares

A/N: For those of you who don't want to read my ramblings (apologies) about my other stories or lengthy explinations of _this_ story, you can just skip down to the **full summary. **It's in pretty bold letters for you. There is also the basic plot info/book jacket-esque thingy, signaled in bold as well. 3

So. Yea. If anyone knows me from my other story, Sara of Wild and Saber of Heart, I would like to cheerily say 'Fuck you' to all my excuses and just get down on my knees and beg you not to be displeased with me. Which, in all likelihood, you probably aren't, as you probably don't even remember the story because of how long it's been. Honestly, I haven't updated since bloody _January. _I know I've gotten little messages in my inbox for stories I couldn't even remember; I sometimes have to go reread them just to know what the update is talking about. Thereof, if anyone out there does remember and does care, I am so infintely sorry for my utter suckishness. To anyone who doesn't, I'm sorry to you as well, for not being here and well, having a story for you to _know. _I do plan to finish SoW&SoH, it's just going to take time. But anyways.

**This is the story of my belf mage-or well, the slightly skewed version-I play on WoW. Here's your basic plot info:**  
>Zara is a Red with the powers of a Black who flees in fear of her broodmates and fellow dragons. She ends up in Eversong Woods, where she falls from the sky, exhausted from flying, and crashes to the ground. When she awakes, she remembers nothing but a fragment of her name, 'Zara'. A Blood Elf merchant named Zalle (the regeant vendor in The Bazaar) finds her wandering about in her humanoid (blood elf-like) form and takes her to Silvermoon, saying that she is her sister and bringing her home with her. Zara settles in to her new life, becoming a tailor and living happily with Zalle, even finding love with another merchant, Sathren Azuredawn (general goods vendor in the same building as Zalle) and becoming betrothed. However, in the night, their shop is burned to the ground, her sister and husband dying in the blaze. Zara, however, due to her nature, is unharmed by the flames; rather, the fire reawakens her, her memories and knowledge of her abilities and who she is returned to her. After she discovers the fire was no accident, she sets off to find her family's murderers and find out why they were targeted. She becomes known as an extremely powerful fire mage-though in truth a dragon-mage-but she soon finds out that the foe she seeks is a great one...namely, the Destroyer himself.<p>

Summary: _**I am called Zarastrasza. I am of the Red Dragonflight, a daughter of the Life-Binder. I am not like my broodmates. My breath is of magma, not fire, and where I walk, life withers, rather than rejuvenating. I am unable to give life, only to drain it. Destruction, not preservation, is my art. I am called Zarastrasza. I am a Red with the powers of a Black. And I fear for my life.**_

* * *

><p><em>Thump-thump.<em>

Fear. The sensation of every single nerve ending in your body being absolutely _alive, _alive like the lightning that speared storm-darkened skies. The feeling of pure, undiluted power arcing in every muscle and pore, so much wild tension that, by all rights, it seems your body ought to be aglow. An incredible rush thrumming in your blood, making it boil, making it _sing._

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

The feeling that all that raw energy is frozen in place, immobile, just like the rest of you. The feeling that every fiber of your being is aching to move, to _flee, _but unable to do , unthinking, imprisoned; but inside, screaming. Such warring, conflicting entities raging within, thrashing about inside you, choking you, making your head spin and your stomach churn, cutting off all coherent thought; obliterating all rational and logic and letting instinct run free in its place.

_Thu-thump., Thu-thump._

Fear. _Terror._

_Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump._

In me, it howled.

_Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump._

I was deaf to the ferocious roar just above me. Blind to the looming behemoth, so large it's shadow cast night where the shining sun above should have wrought day. Unfeeling of the heat of the scorching flames that blistered my skin or the gigantic claws tearing into my flesh.

_Thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump._

The fear overrode it all. My mind was white noise, a high pitched hum the only thing remaining, any memories or faces I could hold close for comfort destroyed in the nothingness.

_Thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump, thu-thu-thump._

The bleakness shattered. My world went black.

* * *

><p>Pale green eyes, shining dimly, blinked open in darkness, casting high, elegantly chiseled cheekbones and proud, arched brows in a feeble glow. The slightly shimmering orbs flicked about torpidly, left, then right, giving but a cursory glance around the obscured room.<p>

Their owner's body was tense were it lay, their chest falling up and down in rapid, shallow breathes, their skin slick with cold sweat. Still though, those eyes did not seem panicked, or frantic; they were calm, and tired. Extremely tired, it was apparent, as they made their rounds about every visible nook and cranny.

Perhaps, perhaps, they were tired of searching.

I raised a hand to my face, draping it over my eyes as I waited for my heartbeat to slow. It seemed that no matter how often this occurred, how so unfortunately accustomed my mind was to this, my body would always react in this way; as if this were the first time I was utterly terrified by my dreams.

It had become normalcy, that fear. One of the only two constants in these nightmares. The other was the enormous creature; always, it was what came for me, in that twisted plane of nether.

Always, it was what slew me.

I sighed through my nose, sitting up and slipping out of my bed, pushing aside my translucent, royal blue spidersilk drapery as I did so, marveling as I always did at the seamless, flowing texture of the fabric.

Mindful to be quiet so that I did not wake Zalle, I swiftly flitted downstairs and went to the window, searching for any light on the horizon. However, I was met with the deep darkness of night, the benevolent, accursed moon illuminating a few of Silvermoon's talletst spires.

Blasted dreams. This was an unholy hour of the night to be awake at! But nonetheless, I was very much awake, as I always was after one of those horrid fantasies.

Hissing quietly under my breath, I walked to the door, cracked it open without a sound, and slipped outside, not bothering to take a shawl or cloak; I was never cold, _never._ Zalle called me her own personal campfire.

I smiled at the thought. Simply thinking of my elder sister dispersed any lingering resentment or disquiet, leaving me to ponder my nightly terrors as I often did, wondering at their meaning as I walked.

The creamy cobblestone streets held a thin layer of frost, and though I was barefoot, I went unbothered by it. Instead, I began scraping random patterns and symbols that floated at the edges of my mind on the stone with the tips of my toes, unquestioning of their origin.

Soon though, the sound of footsteps and long robes brushing the ground signaled the approach of a patrolling guard. Unwilling to explain my presence, I turned around and began pacing back to the shop, already running through a mental checklist of the orders I had for the day; a red woolen shirt, a pair of linen pants, a plain dress, three belts, one pair of cloth shoes…

The wordless inventory continued as I made my way up the short flight of steps to our home, grasping the door handle and moving to open it. I paused, however, to cast a last glance up at the skyline. Barely there, on the farthest edges of the horizon, frayed and so very weak it seemed a trick of the eyes, soft morning light twinkled. I smiled softly, oddly struck by the gorgeous contrast of dark and light. For a moment, I watched.

And then, I turned away, and went inside, shutting the door firmly behind me.

* * *

><p><strong>Please, reveiw! They let me know how I can improve my writing and what people think of the story. I can't express enough how much a simple 'Great job! Can't wait for next chapter!' will do for me. I'm shamelessly begging you here, darlings. 3**


	2. Missive

**A/N:** I'm going to start off by apologizing profusely for the more-than-a-month long wait. It's certainly longer than I would have liked, but all things considered, that may be how long updates take. Sorry! I'll try my best to get them out quickly. :)

Anyways, big thanks-you's to **Cadmos**, **eternalenergy** (thanks for your reveiw hun. sorry i couldn't reply! I cleared some things up w/ the chapter, so hopefully you're not confused anymore? msg me if you are!), **SephoraThae**, **Catnip Banana**, **Alexander Lacerta**, and **Shadow Veli** for your reviews to the prolouge! They meant a lot!

**This chapter is dedicated to _Alexander Lacerta_ for reminding me that this existed, and _Shadow Veli_ for doing it again when I fogrot. Again. Ehehehe...^^;**

* * *

><p>Fear is a curious thing.<p>

Emotions, in general, have highs and lows, extremes which they may escalate or fall to. They also have gray areas, middle ground, but those levels of feeling are oft given a different name completely, such as the case with 'contentment', 'happiness', and 'euphoria'.

That being said, I believe fear only has one place to go, so to speak. Either it is _there_, all consuming and omnipotent, or it is not, and does not exist at the time whatsoever. However, that isn't to say there aren't levels of fear, differences in it: there is "Fear", and "Horror", and "Fright", and, the greatest, "Terror". How exactly these beings—one in the same and yet separate—differ exactly I am unable to explain.

Truly, it seems more befitting that these speculations have no logical proof, as fear itself is illogical, such an all-powerful high as it is, without real cause or meaning. Fear, fear is what ignites within our hearts when we are endangered, or under pressure, or when we feel threatened. And it seems to me, that a more appropriate reaction to these things would be urgency, calmness, and alertness, rather than that emotion that smothers all else and leaves you defenseless. Would it not, after all, be more advantageous to your own survival if you could think, and act, if not with rationality, then with some bit of precision, of quickness? I find that to be a far greater response.

And yet, I myself cannot achieve this. I am as mortal as anyone else, and no amount of realizations has changed that status in the slightest. I fear constantly the haunts that cannot touch me, wraiths that stalk me in my sleep. They hold no tangible dagger with which to shed my blood, yet these things, my dreams, my nightmares, they terrify me; I awaken with that fear coursing through me each eve, and am no more immune for it. Fear is my nigh-constant companion…and pondering how I could free myself from it does nothing to that end.

Fear: It is curious, illogical, and powerful.

Inescapable.

* * *

><p>"Good morn, <em>ladies.<em>" A smooth voice called from just outside the open door, preceding the tall, lithe man that followed it.

"It's near afternoon, Sathren. But it's alright; we all know you're blind as any Duskbat." Zalle sneered, grinning from where she sat in her corner. Sathren sighed.

"And do I merit a sweeter greeting from you, my sun?" He asked me, that flawlessly polite, charming tone of his slipping into his words.

I just grunted at him, not looking up from my stitching. Just a bit more on the embroidery…

"Apparently not." He gasped in mock offense. "Woe is me, a poor bastard so fooled by the wiles of such a deceitful, cunning beauty!" Zalle snorted with laughter, and I smiled a bit at both his joking and the familiar, haughty tittering.

"And I, a forsaken maiden, whose object of affection so scorned her efforts with his glib and mistrustful tongue." I replied. Sathren chuckled, but kept up with our jest.

"So sad this day, that the sun, for sorrow, will not show his head! That two lovers, so betrothed, would be torn asunder by words so cruel; their deceit fate must have so construed! Oh yes, woe is me, and woe is you, a bastard so poor, and a maiden so forsaken, loved and yet unloving!" With a last dramatic—extremely so—flare, he clutched at his chest and fell onto the lounge next to me, his head and shoulders slumped in my lap, and I giggled madly. Zalle clapped slowly, sniggering.

My sewing successfully thwarted, I set aside my needle and fabric and placed a hand on Sathren's face, felt his facial muscles twitch as he tried to remain expressionless, his closed eyelids trembling with the urge to blink. I smiled.

"Ah, indeed, what woe, were it true. However, 'tis not the tale of I, nor you. For you are loved, so greatly, by my heart; _that_ is true." I whispered, leaning down to brush a kiss over his cheeks. The man's still façade instantly melted into a large, contented grin, and he sat up a bit, returning the gesture sweetly, one of his large hands slipping over my shoulders and pulling me closer.

"My own little playwrights…_and_ there you two go again." Zalle whined, snapping her fingers. "You'll scare off the customers!"

"As if you've got any." Sathren grumbled when I pulled back, clearly displeased. I huffed gently, nuzzling his neck by way of an affectionate apology; his pout smoothed into a look that said he'd settle, for now. With an eyeroll at Zalle, he sat up, and I returned to my tailoring.

"Did you need something in particular Sath, or did you just come to visit Zarry?" Zalle asked.

"Oh, some of both, Zal." He replied, moving to rummage in the pockets of his trousers, and then withdrawing a slightly battered piece of paper, thick and cream colored, with a bright red wax seal. He held it out to her. "It's a missive for you. From our old friend Alexea Firewing, in Tarren Mill. It's been so long since we last talked, hasn't it? Years, now."

Had I not known my sister better, I would have thought her reply completely sound. But I _could_ hear it, feel it: the way her breath stilled just for a second, the vibrations of her tensing muscles in the air, the light tone of her voice that sounded just a tad too ignorant, just a tad strained.

I did know better. For whatever reason, hearing from this person had her wary.

"Truly? _Anar'alah…_It has been many years indeed since I'd last heard from Alexea. Give it here, Sath!" She said as she strode across the room, snatching up the letter from Sathren's extended grasp. Zalle's long, thin fingers ghosted over the bright seal and, after a moment's hesitation, slipped to its thick edge and broke it. A beat later, and she spun around, walking off into the kitchen along with the sound of paper shuffling as she extracted the envelope's contents.

Shortly after her disappearance, she returned. I noted the way her fingers were curling and uncurling as if they pained her—something that, in retrospect, was highly possible due to her work, but something that disturbed me nonetheless.

I frowned, glancing up at Sathren out of the corner of my eye. His features were relaxed except for a tightening of his eyes and way he just barely pressed his lips together; these were signs of agitation, and moreover, nervousness I'd come to recognize in him, though he hid it well.

Whoever the letter's sender was, their sudden word after so long had sent my family into disquiet, and I'd no idea why. It disturbed me greatly, and kindled flickers of anger in my gut, a heat that slowly burned its way up the back of my throat, and I growled lowly, silently to myself. I twisted to face Sathren.

"You're well, my love?" I asked him. Bluntly, perhaps, but I expected a reply! The man blinked, turning his attention back to me with a radiant smile.

"I am brilliant, my sun." He returned in a purr, leaning into my side and resting his head atop mine.

"_Truly?_" I persisted, a bit miffed at his easy answer. He sighed slightly in affectionate exasperation, his warm breath tingling acutely as it brushed across the back of my ear.

"Truly, truly." He murmured, relaxing fully. It seemed he planned to nap, so I decided to simply settle, for the moment.

I would get my answers eventually, whether it was they who provided them or not.

Because anything that upset my family was something I could not leave well enough alone, nor forgive.

* * *

><p>My quest for information ended abruptly and fruitlessly after only a bit of investigating the next day and night. Though I questioned both Sathren and Zalle than once more, their answers were the same: they assured me that nothing at all was wrong<em>—"'Why ever did you think that, Zarry<em>?'"—and asked if _I _was well. When I mentioned the letter, they repeated, as if unable to say anything else, that it was from an old friend of theirs in Tarren Mill, a Sin'dorei woman by the name of Alexea Firewing. Furthermore, when I asked what this Alexea had told them, they answered me with good-natured smiles and gentle, teasing remarks about people's privacy—_"'You're being awfully rude, Zarry.'"_—before they finally relayed tales of herb gathering and pesky Alliance farmers.

Completely unconvinced, and rather put-off, I went in search of the letter that very night while Zalle slept; however, nothing could be found, even after poking around in the hearth—thinking the missive may have been burned—only to find it spotless.

This all amounted to a great deal of petulant frustration and my limited patience running thin. In my exasperated state, it became much easier to simply accept my two beloveds—the conniving demons—explanations, especially since they had been given much the same each time I asked.

Zalle and Sathren had lived much before my time, and, as merchants, had seen much of the world. It was in no way suspicious that they had friends in somewhat far-off places like Tarren Mill. And, considering the distance and the ease with which these things are lost, it is also quite unremarkable that they had not heard from this Firewing woman in so long. I had slept worse than I normally did that day, and I could have easily misread the atmosphere, though it angered me to acknowledge it.

But, the most important factor here was rather plain: though they might not tell me everything, neither Zalle or Sathren had any reason to lie to me, nor would they. In the face of this simple, but obvious fact, I felt a twinge of shame for suspecting my family so when they trusted and loved me, as I did them. Though it was out of worry for them, my thoughts had been less than appreciative.

This, at least, was how I tried to reason with myself, if only to quell the small voice in my mind that cackled of failure, and fear.

Always, the fear.

* * *

><p>I was in a mist-shrouded field. The seething, silvery fog was thick, completely blocking my vision past where it swirled just a few feet away. I stood in a bubble of clarity, the grass beneath my booted feet cool and damp to the touch.<p>

A faceless woman stood just in front of me. She was an elf, like I, but her features were so blurred and out of focus that it was impossible to discern so much as a pair of bright eyes or a set of lips. She wore nothing, clad only in her own skin. The mist curved in odd ways around her, bending away in impossible patterns, as though kept at bay. What wisps did approach her would seem to thin into nothingness in the blink off an eye, similar in behavior to a drop of water falling to a flaming log.

Neither I or the distorted woman spoke, or approached one another. For the longest time, we just stood in stillness as the fog closed in, the small circumference of the circle we stood in tightening. When the first curls of mist reached me, I shivered at their chill caress.

As if this was her cue, the woman's arm lifted in a slow motion, extending out to me the piece of dark paper, black like a moonless night, that had at some point appeared in her hand.

It was a letter: the thought came to me with absolute certainty. I reached out to the woman, intent on taking it; however, my muscles seemed to petrify when my fingertips were but an inch from the object. My brow furrowed, and I noted, with confusion, that my hand—my whole arm—shook terribly, the tremors wracking my flesh.

_Why…? _

I woman made an insistent motion, urging me to take the proffered missive. I grunted, glaring at my hand as I tried desperately to force it forward despite its shaking.

_Why…?_

The pads of my fingers met the obsidian paper.

_Why am I so afraid?_

Chaos erupted.

The moment I touched the dark letter, it exploded into a roaring flame that seared my skin and flesh. I screamed, trying to wrench my hand and arm away from the inferno but finding the limb immobile as stone. Desperate, I moved back a step, and felt a horrible, horrible cold sink deep into my back, frosting my bones and freezing their marrow. My eyes reeled around to see the mist, the deathly mist, cling to my back, wrapping around my shoulders, my hips, my legs. Thin tendrils snaked their way around my neck, and my screams cut off as the icy fingers stole the breath from me, choking me. The fire blazed its way up my arm, engulfing my torso, my neck and cheek, everything until I was a burning woman, held fast as though tied to a stake, unable to voice the agonized shrieks that tore away at my lungs and built in my chest.

Silently, I screamed, and I burned, and I froze, and I choked, and amidst it all I saw an enormous shadow rear up from the fog behind the faceless woman, a flat, indistinct, black behemoth. The shape opened a frightening maw and then there was a terrible roar, and though no awful creature emerged from the gloom, I was suddenly being rent by claw and tooth as well.

_Why did I not run?_

I screamed.

* * *

><p>I wretched awake, gasping and clutching at my chest. My gaze darted around wildly, eyes wide open, sparks of horror and echoes of the not-real-pain electrifying my body.<p>

It took me several long moments to calm myself, for my breathing to return to normal. I shoved at the silken sheets pooling around my waist, unwilling to have anything brushing my skin, and raised a slightly trembling hands to brush the sweat-dampened curls from my cheeks. Seeing my hand—the same hand—shaking reminded me of the ghastly nightmare, and I clenched my eyes shut.

This wasn't right; I did not awaken in this state of such terror any longer; my daily worries did not manifest themselves in my nightmares; things other than the behemoth did not torment me.

And yet all was so. Why? What was this? It could not be chance, not with such steadfast consistency from all other nights. Why—

'_Why am I so afraid?'_

The thought from my dream reverberated in my mind.

My fears were real. The fear that I felt each night was real. But I was never afraid. I felt fear, but I _did not fear._ So what, then? What was this? What was going on? Was it the letter? The faceless woman? Why? What had changed?

What had changed?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Page-break spamming ftw. Once again, please reveiw my darlings! They make me so happy and make me update! (read: remind me this story exists X'D)**


	3. Fabrics

**A/N: Bloody hell, I'm a right bastard, aren't I? I took almost two months just to get this out! And you have no idea how long the document's been sitting open on my laptop here, either. By all that is WoW, I'm awful. I mean, it was just writer's block at first, but then I had this brilliant idea for an original series and I just dove into that for pretty much the entirety of February. Then March rolled around, and between copious amounts of building stress from the previous month-caused by an important interview, and deep problems with a good friend-testing, driver's ed, and far too little sleep, I just said, 'To heck with it!'. But then I remembered my lovely reviews form you gorgeous studmuffins and I felt like an $$. So I hunkered down just now and finished this thing! Hopefully, the next won't be so long in coming. The forseeable future promises lots of writing time for me.**

**I'd like to take a moment to give a very, very special thank you to _WishingUnderThatStar, _for her desicive action in informing me of the theft of this story. I'm afraid this might not be here now without you! So once again dear, thank you. I'm incredibly grateful.**

**And of course, a big thank you to my reviewers for the last chapter. Thank you so much _Cadmos,_ for your praise and not-pressuring-pressure (you sly thing you), _Shadow Veli_ for your kind words, and _Dei's Girl_ for you enthusiasm and the reminder to move my ass, LOL. I love you all so much.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Zara.**

**Now, onwards!**

* * *

><p>Unfortunately for me, my sister knew me even better than I knew her.<p>

As a week passed and I continued to "mope", as she so kindly put it, Zalle grew steadily more restless and exasperated. Her annoyance was apparent in her voice, tight and irritated compared to its normally frivolous, supercilious tone.

And then there was her staring.

Zalle had a particular stare. It was, to say at the least, utterly unnerving in its intensity. Also unfortunately, I noted, as I stole a glance up from the rich, berry-colored fabric I was stitching, she was once again directing it at me. Ugh…

Back to sewing. Glance up.

_Stare…_

Back to sewing. Glance up.

_Stare…_

Back to sewing. Glance up.

_Stare…_

Back to sewing, back to sewing, _back to sewing._

Glance up.

"Would you _quit it?_" I hissed, flinging the half-done sleeve at her unblinking face and grumbling when the light cloth fluttered harmlessly to the ground a foot or two in front of her. She kept staring.

"Are you done yet?"

"I _am not moping, _Zalle Netherdawn!"

"Pah!" She cried, standing and pointing at me with a flourish. "You are _moping_, Zarry, and I've had enough. Put awayyour thread. We're off shopping."

"What? Shopping? Zally, I love it as much as you do, but is now rea—"

"_Shopping_, sister dear! You are in dire need." Zalle seized my arm, and before I knew it, I was dragged out the door and into the day's enticing sunshine.

I could not compete with that stare. Ah, well. As Zalle began to babble enthusiastically about the latest bare-navel fashions, I felt my mood lifting, and grinned happily.

_Shopping._

* * *

><p>The Bazaar was bustling, all sorts of stands having sprung up seemingly over night, and I realized dimly it was Market Day. All the better for us, then.<p>

Zalle and I wove gracefully, skillfully through the tightly packed, constantly moving crowds of pink skin, fair-bright-dark hair, and lavish clothing, intent on all the stands and displays of pretty baubles, glimmering jewelry, and desirable clothing.

Shopping had become something of a penchant for Zalle and I. I would shamelessly admit I absolutely loved it to anyone who asked. I adored pretty clothes, beautiful dresses, shiny earrings, brightly colored, fine silks, the whole lot. I adored feeling pretty with these things, and I adored feeling pretty _with _Zalle. It was hopelessly superficial, but it was true all the same.

Zalle darted off to the right, gasping excitedly about the cleavage-baring, clingy shirt one of our neighbors, Galanna was admiring. I followed after her happily, amused and excited, eyes scanning the hastily thrown-together counter tops.

Stopping to admire a thick, shimmering bolt of Netherweave silk laid out next to a gorgeous, provocative indigo dress made of the very material, I smiled slightly, remembering the first time Zalle had taken me dress shopping. Or rather, the first time that I could remember…Oh, that had been a special day. She'd been so careful with me, so happy as we picked through selection after selection of fine clothing and trinkets.

Ah, and that had been the first day I'd met Sathren, hadn't it? I wanted to laugh at the memory, thinking of his face as Zalle went at him like a mother bear defending her cubs after he'd tried to flirt with me. By the Sun, I'd been so confused.

But what an oddly nice memory to have…

* * *

><p><em>I had been overwhelmed. The cornucopia of high-pitched, vainglorious voices twittering and chatting and boasting and bidding, the swirling mosaic made of dazzling, fiery colors, the ethereal glowing of crystals and stones, the sparkling of beads and jewels, and the streaming sunlight. There was so much to see, so much to be heard, it was madness. <em>

_ Zalle tugged me along with a firm hand in mine, leading me away from the civil yet clamorous auction house with its pretty blue curtains that looked so pleasant to the touch. _

_Zalle: The lovely, kind, callously witty woman who still had to remind me every so often that she was Zalle, Zalle Netherdawn, and she was my elder sister, and we were tailors and merchants, and our parents had died some time ago, though we weren't to talk about that with other people. That I had had a bit of an accident while I was out delivering a specially-made set of robes, and had taken a blow to the head of some sort, causing me to forget some things; but that was okay, because Zalle was going to help me and take care of me, and she'd always love me because I was her little sister. I didn't have to remember, she'd say, I just had to be all right._

_Just be all right. Be all right, be all right, be all right._

_I focused on Zalle. Her light hair was just a shade from mine, and shorter, with straight, limp strands that fell just past her shoulder blades and clung, as if damp, to her neck and scalp. Today she wore dark, burgundy robes with a silvery lining and adorned with dangling beads, cut and slit in all the right places to make it "'teasing'", as she so put it. Her dainty feet were clad in darkly colored, supposedly stylish sandals, and a modest silver band glinted on the index finger or her left hand, a twin to the one on my right. I ran my thumb over the metal, trying to draw some comfort from the precious—and it was, even if I didn't remember, it was—ring. _

_A voluptuous strawberry blonde elf sashayed quickly by, her sleeve brushing mine in passing. I gripped Zalle's hand a little tighter._

"_You're alright, Zarry. We're almost to the clothing shop, see? There it is, right there. We're okay." She reassured me, glancing over a bared shoulder._

_I smiled at her as best I could, hoping she'd think I was fine now. When she grinned back at me and resumed her stride, I let the expression drop. It still felt so strange to move the muscles in my face in such a way. The sensation of _not _having my lips pulled back around my teeth and my jaws parted was so very awkward and uncomfortable. I didn't tell Zalle this; rather, I just prayed it wasn't because it'd forgotten how to smile properly, too._

_I needed to be able to smile at Zalle. Smiling was like magic. When I smiled, I could walk, and run, and sit in a chair, and hold my silverware, and get dressed by myself, and say '_Anar'alah belore_' or '_Anu belore dela'na_' or '_Anariashola'_, and wash in the bath with all the soaps and oils, and write my letters, and know what Zalle meant when she spoke of kissing and holding and how handsome certain men were, and read the notes Zalle left me, and drink wine without coughing it up, and brush my hair, and not be confused by new-old people, and recognize my _Ann'da _and _Minn'da _in the photos on the wall._

_When I smiled, it meant I wasn't lost. When I smiled, it meant I was all right, just like I needed to be, like I wanted so badly to be. When I smiled, Zalle smiled too, because it meant she didn't have to worry about me not being able to do any of those things._

_Smiles were magic. Better magic than the fire spells Zalle says I used to do, or the healing chants I sometimes hear the Priests and Paladins invoking._

"_Zarry? _Zarry_?Zara? Are you alright, Zara? Look, we're in the shop. Are you still okay? Do you want to go home?"_

_Oh no. I hadn't been paying attention. There was that face again: the one with the creases and the tiniest frown and the sad eyes. Don't be sad, don't be sad, don't be sad. You have to be all right._

_I smiled again._

"_Yes Zally, I'm okay. Let's shop! Please? Uh, how about that?" I pointed without looking at a pile of cloth on a table, hoping I'd said all the words right. Zalle's worried look was replaced with mild confusion, and she gave me a serious look as her lips thinned into a little rose-colored line._

"_That's a roll of silk, Zarry. It's not clothing, not yet. Try to remember what dresses and shirts and pants look like, okay? Think about your closet, or what I'm wearing right now. Think about the bolts of silk and linen at home. You know these things, it's okay." She instructed, patting the hand she was still holding with her free one. I nodded quickly, then paused and stared off as if thinking hard._

_Which was useless: I couldn't remember what a closet was._

_Glancing about after what I deemed a hopefully appropriate amount of time to be thinking about closets and the cloth in our home, I took in the building around me. The interior of the shop was elegant and dimly bright as the half-risen sun, but as ethereally charming as what of the rest of the city I'd seen. The walls and floors were of pretty marble, carved in intricate, graceful designs and inlaid with golden scrollwork, lined with gold trimmings. Four wide, carved archways served as doors, two that ushered light in, two covered in more of those tantilizing azure curtains that seemed to lead into the darker depths of the shop. Close to the walls were disembodied torsos padded in cloth and mounted on poles—manniquins, that was what Zalle called them. Manniquins, maniiquins, manniquins, manniquins—draped in either thin armor or finery, along with racks of silk and accessories. The majority of the room was open floor space, with a large, violet rug decorating the empty center. Two slim, gold-rimmed tables bracketed the far right wall, while only one, empty save for piles of cloth and garnmets on display, served on the left. In front of the left was a fiery-haired woman, and behind those on the right, two more elves, a woman and a man, both with heads of dark, styled chestnut locks. The sign hanging above the entrance had proclaimed the place as 'Keelen's Trustworthy Tailoring'; however, the grin the man wore seemed far from trustworthy in any way._

_Perhaps it was my paranoia again._

_I peered at Zalle out of the corner of my eye, noting that though she was watching me, her body was angled towards the counter with all the cloth. Did she want to look at them?_

"_Let's look at some of these, Zalle." I chirped, mimicking the tone she herself used when she was cheery and pulling her towards the fabric-laved island she'd been gravitating towards. Zalle's face lit up like the dawn I found solace in, her eyes gleaming with an intelligent interest and her gleaming white teeth flashing through her grin._

_Zalle's hands danced about the fabric with a professional familiarity, her expression openly appraising. She glanced at me happily, her fingers settling on a pink material that seemed to shine a bit when I tilted my head the right way._

"_This is silk, Zarry. It's a common cloth, but also a nicer one. Often used for shirts and dresses or a drape. This," fingertips greeted a much thicker, off-white spool, "is wool. Also a common cloth, though not as nice as silk. Makes for great vests, shirts, linings…This is simple linen, the most-used and simplest cloth…you use if for just about everything. Oh! And this," here she indicated a faintly shimmering bolt of a pale, ethereal violet, "is Mageweave. It's one of your rarer clothes, though not as much so as some such as Mooncloth or Netherweave."_

_I stared hard at each piece as she introduced it, determined to learn about whatever these things were that enthralled Zalle so. She looked much like she did when explaining to me about the runes and reagents she sold on a daily basis. I bit the inside of my lip—usually, I bit the outside, but then I'd bleed where Zalle could see—and studied the material._

_That pink one really was quite shiny if you looked just right…and smooth too, like resting your fingers atop the water of a gently flowing stream._

"_Zalle, could I have something of this…sil-ilk?" I asked her softly, trying to wrap my tongue around the word. Zalle beamed at me and nodded._

"_Of course, Zarry! Let me talk to Keelen. Why don't you look at what's already out while I do? That section there, see, is all silk." She waved a flawless hand towards a large cluster of the decorated body parts as she moved away from me, toward the still-smiling man on the other side of the table we'd been perusing._

_I obeyed the suggestion—had it been a suggestion? Or a command? Perhaps neither? I didn't know—and approached the apparently silk-clad displays. Rich, urbane violets, blues, greens, and pinks dominated in the many pieces of clothing, but I saw warmer, bloodier hues too. A few flowing miles of extremely dark cloth, blacks and browns and navies added to the mix, but I could not be bothered to look at them. Already, my attention was arrested on a deep, ruby-wine-blood colored garmet._

_The dress itself was lovely, with dainty, dripping sleeves, a neckline that dipped in a sharp 'V' shape, like a split stone, and a gently falling skirt. But the color was what drew me._

_Red. So very red. A brilliant shade. Red that burned. Red like blood, that flowed in hearts, through veins. Red, that was familiar. Red, that was foreboding. Red that seemed to echo in my ears and wrap around my skin, as if my vision had become a tangible thing._

_Red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red red…_

_Red was me._

_What?_

"_That would look lovely on you."_

_I gasped, jolting, and whirled around, eyes wide, teeth bared, hands twisted in my skirts._

_The man that had spoken took a step back, his face surprised. His hands came up in a gesture Zalle used when trying to calm me. I never questioned it, but I really had wanted to ask he how waving her hands was supposed to be calming, because somehow I saw it and thought it was the silliest thing…_

"_I'm sorry, I didn't intend to frighten you." The man continued in a smooth tenor, grinning at me and dropping his arms to his sides. I nodded at him, thinking of running to Zalle, when I remembered how she'd told me to always greet people properly, even if I'd rather see them over a roasting spit._

"S-s-Sinu a'manore!_" I stuttered quickly, worried at the odd look he gave me, a slim eyebrow raised._

"_Ahh…Well, _sinu a'manore_ to you as well. You're quite strange, you know that?"_

_I just stared at him, unsure of how to respond, and simply nodded again. Surprise flashed across handsome features before a grin formed on slim lips, and he laughed quietly._

"_Well, that's wonderful then. I rather _like_ strange." The man purred, his voice gone low and tone teasing. I frowned, still so confused, and clenched my fingers in my skirts again. This response seemed to deflate the man a bit, and he looked past me for a moment before his dancing green eyes darted back to mine._

"_You really would look lovely in that." He murmured with sweet smile, nodding behind me toward the red-red-red dress. "Perhaps you'd allow me to purchase it for you? It would be a shame to do otherwise…"_

"_Umm, n-no. No, thank you. Ahh, it's a very kind offer!" I replyed as best I could, wishing the confusion would leave me, wishing my voice did not shake and my hands were not trembling, wishing I could just smile like I did at Zalle and make it go away._

_Would their magic make it go away?_

_My lips twitched, and I gave the man a tiny smile just the way Zalle had shown me to do. The man's face brightened, but his eyes darkened, and his grin widened as he took a step closer._

"_Really, now? Perhaps you'd like something else, then? A beautiful woman such as yourself ought to have only the finest, and I'd love to show you some finer things."_

_I bit the inside of my lip, the muscles in my face twitching as I kept smiling, despite the urge to frown. What was this?_

"_Ahh, please, Sir…?" He took another step closer, his grin maddening._

"Oh, how could I forget? I am—"

"SATHREN AZUREDAWN!_ WHAT BY THE LIGHT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" Zalle's voice screeched to my left, her normally high, airy voice careening up a few octaves, sounding like the sharp ringing of blades. I barely resisted the urge to cry out and cover my ears. The man flinched, cringing, and took a large stride away from me, his attention turning towards the frightening-looking woman storming toward him._

"_Ahahaha! Zalle Netherdawn! How pleasant to see you agai—"_

"_Don't you dare say a word, you miserable slug!" She cried, her eyes like emeralds lit with flame, her scowl so deep I wondered if the creases would ever fade. Her hand shot out, wrapping firmly around my arm, and she pulled me to her side. Still immensely confused, but relieved to have Zalle there, I huddled close to her, wanting for her warmth. Her arm slid around my shoulders comfortingly, and she angled her body toward the man and me away from him, shielding me from the source of my bewilderment._

_The man—Sath-something or another, Zalle had called him—seemed not at all pleased with the development. His smile disappeared, and he sneered at Zalle._

"_And just what have I done wrong, you wretched shriek? Nothing!" He said lowly, his eyes narrowing. Zalle's own expression became even deadlier, and she snarled at him with a menacing glare._

"_Stay away from my sister, Sathren Azuredawn. If you come near her again, I'll cut your throat myself."_

_Opposite us, the man, Sathren, went still, his eyes first widening in what appeared to be confused shock, and then narrowing again as he scowled at Zalle._

"_Do you take me for a fool, Zalle Netherdawn? What are you playing at? You have no sis—"_

"_Stay. Away. From. _My sister._ I won't warn you again, Azuredawn." Zalle hissed, her voice so low, so calm and chilling, I shivered. Sathren's eyes stretched slightly, again, before thinning once more in a distrustful glare. His jaw worked soundlessly as he took a few more retreating steps towards the door, his gaze flashing between Zalle's coolly irate form and my own stooped one._

"_Very well, then. A pleasant day to you. _Shorel'aran, sisters _Netherdawn."_

_And then he was gone._

_I watched Zalle closely as she stared after him, breathing oddly harsh. She turned to me after a pause, and our gazes met. Her eyes were so hard._

_I smiled at her. Her face softened._

"_Are you well, Zara?" She asked, and I nodded timidely, smiling some more. Zalle nodded to herself._

"_Good." She said. "Good."_

_I gnawed on the inside of my cheek, tasting the coppery blood taste and prodding the torn flesh with my tongue. Zalle did not seem "'good'". Not now. Not like when she was smiling, or excited, or interested, or brushing my hair, or looking at pretty things in the stores._

_Smile for me, Zalle. Please, I beg you._

"_Zally, could I have that dress?" I asked, smiling at her, clasping my hands to my chest after motioning behind me at some random article. A cursory glance revealed I'd indicated a bright, royal violet affair, with no sleeves and a very bared middle, the edges dripping with blue and red glass beads and lined with wine embroidery. Zalle looked, her heavy look slowly melting, and she gave me a soft 'yes', gently patting my head. This time, when she went to talk to the owner-tailor-not-man, she kept my hand firmly in her own, not letting me go for a moment until I went to change._

_When I returned from behind a screen wearing my new clothing, I smiled as brightly as I knew how at Zalle, clapping my hands and swishing the skirts like I'd seen some elf ladies do from the window. Genuine happiness spread over Zalle's face at my apperent delight, and she smiled at me, giggling as I pulled her into a dance like she'd thought to try to teach me. The steps were horribly incorrect, but I just kept dancing around, willing the joy that radiated from my smiling face to be real enough to be convincing._

_Please please please please be all right. Be all right, be all right, be all right. _

_Please be all right, Zalle._

* * *

><p>"Zalle! Come look at this! It's gorgeous!" I shrieked delightedly over the clamour of the Bazaar's market day high.<p>

"By the Sun! We have to have that. I have to have that!" Zalle laughed, simply melting over the to-die-for sea-blue, shorn top.

"It would look so nice on you, too! Make your hair stand out."

"And it's so thin, the Midsummer heat wouldn't be a problem at all."

"Thin? It's positively see-through! But I'm _sure _you'll attract _something _else, even if you've kept the heat away!" I cackled. Zalle burst into sinful giggles, her raised eyebrows and lecherous smirk clearly indicating her line of thought.

"Are you sure _you_ don't want it, Zarry? I'm sure Sath would appreciate the view!"

"Zalle!" I gasped, blushing madly and smacking her arm. She just threw her head back a guffawed in that superior manner of hers, clutching at her stomach with one hand and pointing at my smoldering face with the other.

"You know you _want to…_" She sang through her laughter, and I hissed at her, displeased with the flush that was now climbing down my neck and burning my ears.

"I think you might just need it more than I, Zally darling. Attract _yourself_ so attention." My sister's eyes narrowed, her expression bordering on a sneer, though her cheeks twitched as if still fighting off laughter.

"Low shot, Zarry-dear, low shot." She grumbled, though there was no real offense in her eyes.

"You brought it on yourself!" I huffed, sticking my tongue out at her childishly, to which she did the exact same.

"Your maturity levels astound me." Zalle snickered, her slim fingers toying with her bottom lip.

"Yes, well, there must be _some _reason you're the elder sibling, Zally. Perhaps we've found it!"

"Oh, yes. It's because you're a child."

"Strange. And here I thought I was over four-hundred years old!"

It was brief, the look that flashed through Zalle's eyes, but I'd long since come to recognize each fleeting glint of emotion. That just now had been horror. The kind you saw in the expression of someone who was watching a vase fall from across the room. An "Oh no." of sorts.

I wondered at it. Stored it for later, when she immediately covered it up with a teasing smile.

"Well then, perhaps you ought to be the older sister! I'm only a hundred-and-forty-two!"

"I do believe Orcs consider that _ancient._" I said slyly, winking at her. She huffed, flicking me on the forehead.

"Brat."

"_Little _sister, remember?"

"But of course."

I just chuckled quietly, turning my wayward attention back to the beautiful article of clothing that had started all that silliness. I sighed wistfully. It really would look nice on Zally, but it was _so pretty._

"It's mine." She said, seeing my expression. She grabbed a a handful of that satiny fabric, only to be stopped when my hand shot out and took hold of the other half.

I looked at her. She looked at me. Her eyes narrowed. My brows arched. She smirked, and I smirked back.

"Mine_._" She trilled again, more forcefully this time. We kept smiling at each other, looking entirely too pleasant. So much so, it was likely disturbing any onlookers. I shook my head slowly.

"_Mine._" I whispered back. Zalle's eyes flashed again.

The blouse was held taut between us, a non-living connection. We tugged, lightly, at the same instant.

I knew for a fact, as a tailor, that the Netherweave the shirt was crafted from would not have torn from the small amount of force we'd exerted upon it. This was indisputable. And yet I found myself falling backwards, accompanied by a surprising loud _riiiiip. _

My shoulder hit the cobblestones unceremoniously with a small thud, and I stared up at Zalle, our wide-eyed, uncomprehending gazes alternating between each other and the frayed fabric in our clutches. We _both _knew the same thing. We both were utterly mystified.

I let my gaze drift to the once-oh-so-lovely cloth in my hand. Long, seemingly delicate, but steel-like strands of an incandescent, dreamy blue, frayed and twisted, so cruelly ripped apart from their brethren.

An uneasy feeling pooled in my gut as I slowly looked up to the similarly wounded edges in Zalle's hand, and then up to Zalle's face. She offered me her other hand, and I took it dazedly, letting her help me up.

We paid the quite miffed shopkeeper, a wiry, golden-blond named Andra whose dislike of me was very much mutual, and started towards home, still hanging on to the ruined fabric.

When we reached our front door, I took Zalle's piece from her hands, and strode inside ahead of her. She followed behind me, and watched in silence as I tossed the two uneven halves into the fireplace. The embers we'd left smoldering this morning oh-so-slowly melted the fabric, licking at it, caressing it, and soon the remains of the pretty thing were engulfed in a languid flame.

Though the day had been happy, that night, I could not banish the blackening blouse form behind my eyelids, could not seem to forget the nauseated feeling that accompanied the memory of those sundered threads, or the look on Zalle's face as I fell away form her.

In my terrors that night, it was not the shirt that was torn apart. It was she, and it was me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Yes, grammatically it should be '...she, and it was _I', _but 'me' sounds so bloody brilliant. Let me know what you think lovelies! Pretty please? And refrain from throwing stones? :'D**

**EDIT: Forgot to put these translations in, lol. Sry. All phrases are Thalassian. Here you go:**

**_Anaria shola_ - Speak your business.  
><strong>**_Anar'alah belore_ - By the light of the sun.  
><em>Anu belore dela'na<em> - The sun guides us.  
><em>Ann'da<em> - Papa  
><em>Minn'da<em> - Mama  
><em>Sinu a'manore<em> - Well met.  
><em>Shorel'aran<em> - Farewell.**


	4. Betrothals

**A/N: **Well, I'm not too happy with the latter half of this chapter myself, so you'll have to tell me what you think, please! It's a little slow, maybe, and uhh...kind of ridiculous in their convos, but eh. You get filler info, and necessary info, so anyways, enjoy my lovelies! 3

And thank you to _Shadow Veli, Dei's Girl _(since you didn't log in, this is me telling you ha, 'cause i tried to move my ass, LOL. love ya gurl), _Sivven, _and _Cadmos _for your reviews! They always mean a lot to me and I'm really grateful for the support-and humor, xD

* * *

><p><em>Rise…and fall.<em>

_ Rise…and fall._

_ Rise…and fall._

_ Rise…_

_ …_

_ …and fall._

Such precious movements. What would happen, if they were to cease?

…I'd think it would kill me.

Yes, that seemed reasonable.

_Rise…and fall._

What about those twitching fingers, or that slight tremble behind gently closed eyelids? Would it be fatal if those motions stopped too? Or was the rising and falling only so significant because of the necessity it bequeathed?

Would it be so horrible, if those fingers stilled, if those eyes saw nothing more? Surely, it was better than if that rising and falling were to stop. Would it not be?

Perhaps, not.

_Rise…and fall._

I shifted on my perch, careful not to disturb much else as I became aware of the stinging-dying-rushing feeling in my left leg. But it was unimportant next to these other things and soon ignored.

_Rise…and fall._

Lips parted slightly with this interval, and sweet air slipped past them, gone, gone, gone, just like that. So quickly. So easily.

Why? Why would something…so precious, so precious…how could it be so, so _simple _to discard it?

_Rise…and fall._

I let the urge to clamp my hand over those parted lips, to clasp around that throat, reign free for a moment. Examined it, wondered at it, poked and prodded it…Hold that air in, save those breaths, contain them, keep them, never, never tossing them away, oh yes, a fine solution…but no. The thought seemed logical but it was not so. If you kept those breaths, the rise and fall would stop.

To live, you had to let that life go.

_Rise…and fall._

But how could I let it go?

_Rise…and fall._

How could I let_ her _go?

_Rise…and fall._

Silly.

_Rise…and fall._

It was not me that had to do the releasing. It was not me that could.

_Rise…and fall._

But I wished to.

_Rise…and fall._

If I could breathe for you, I would.

_Rise…and fall._

If I could live for you, I would.

_Rise…and fall._

If I could protect you, I would.

_Rise…_

_ …_

_ …and fall._

But I cannot.

_Rise…and fall._

I sighed through my nose, quietly, and lifted a hand to rub at my unblinking eyes, forcing them closed. The images behind my eyelids still remained.

I opened my eyes again, to the blessed darkness of the room. It was so backwards, that only with my eyes open did they receive any respite in comforting blackness. When they were closed was when the colors-feelings-horrors came; and things danced and danced and some screamed and nothing could be still, never, never still.

I returned my attention to the slight form below me, my perch on the bed's headboard granting me a wonderfully detailed view in the dim. Zalle's hair fanned across her pillows, wings and wisps of brightness that stood out even in the dark. Her face was smooth and relaxed; her mouth just slightly open, thin lips free from her grin, or leer, or scowl. Her chest rose and fell in a mostly steady rhythm, broken only by deeper, longer breaths, and her hands curled slightly were they lay, one in her sheets, one against her chest.

She slept on.

When had I begun this? I could not remember. Perhaps it had been a habit from before my accident, one that I had unconscientiously resumed. Perhaps I had just developed it in response to the co-dependency I had with Zalle. But whatever the case, watching my sister as she slept had, undoubtedly, become the source of my sanity in times like these.

My nightmares were haunting me again, much the same as they first had after the accident. The visions remained with me in my waking hours, the bolts of terror locked, stagnant, in my limbs, the bloody horrors of my mind too much to slumber by. It had been almost eight nights ago now that I last slept more than a handful of minutes in a day. Each time I dozed off, the especially awful nightmares came again.

My gaze drifted to my right hand, bandaged tightly. Just this morning, I had hallucinated that one of the kitchen knives was a rose—which I had "presumed" Sathren had left me—and had sliced my palm open when I grabbed it. Thankfully, neither Sathren nor Zalle had been in the house at the time.

Things were getting out of hand. Hallucinations? What else could go wrong before I collapsed from exhaustion—or worse? There had to be a way to end this. Oh, I had said that five nights ago, but all the same...

I shuffled my feet, lifting them from the gold-rimmed wood, warm now, and they stuck a bit, damp, but not sweaty. I twisted my hips this way, my torso that way, extended a leg towards the end table, placed a hand against the wall, and was bending and sliding and stepping, as quietly as I could, onto the ivory floor. Oh, I'd used to make much more noise, pitching forward when I tried to get down, but I'd mastered sneaking about like this…

I padded out of Zalle's bedroom, into the hall, down the stair, through the kitchen, into the main room, up a spiraling ramp, and into my own nook. Zalle had argued that I should have a room of my own, but I liked the smaller, elevated space. Just a small table, my big, round bed, and a dresser, and a few knickknacks and furnishings, all on this small, nine foot-by-nine foot balcony-like structure.

I lied down and slipped under my silky sheets, settling myself curled tightly on my side, my head propped up on my hands, as I always did. I started breathing deeply, evenly, the familiar heavy sensation in my chest, and watched the black sky outside the window down below lighten to an inky gray, then a dark, pearly, storm cloud-blue.

I listened as, further in the house, the rise-and-fall stopped, and a low, feminine groan sounded in its place. Sheets fluttered, cloth rustled, bare feet thumped heavily on the floor. A door creaked open, footsteps padded down, down the hall, down the stair, across the kitchen, into the room and up the ramp, closer, closer. One, two more steps that stilled beside me, warmth radiating from her body. Hair slid over her shoulders as she leaned closer still, and a hand touched lightly on my shoulder, gripping with no force, giving a tiny shake.

"Zarry," she whispered quietly, "Zarry. Zarry! Get up. Come now." Another tiny shake, harder this time. "Zara! Wake up."

I growled lowly, tucking my face into my hands and the sheets and curling up even tighter. She shook me again, and I cracked an eye open with deliberate slowness, wishing the tired bleariness in them really were remnants left from the dregs of deep sleep.

"Get up, Zarry. Come on now. Up!" Zalle said, her tone gently brusque.

"'eave me be." I grumbled, slurring my words and glaring up at her. She sneered.

"No. Get up. It's morning."

_I know, Zalle. I know._

With a hefty sigh, I sat up and pushed back the sheets, grunting at my sister and standing from my bed. She half-smiled, half-leered at me, and I made a sour face back, darting past her to my dresser. She snorted as she turned and went back down the ramp, her steps heading for the kitchen, grumbling quietly about sleeping too late and being hungry and the day's work.

When I heard the clacking of plates and thudding of opening cabinets, I let my eyes slid closed against the distorted, wavering rainbow my clothing had become, my forehead thumping against cool wood.

_I can't protect you, Zalle. But I can do my damned best to make you happy. I can try._

_I must try._

* * *

><p>I slipped silently through Zalle's cracked-open door and darted towards the bed, ready to take up my watch again. I was just moving to the bedside when Zalle's sleep-heavy voice broke the breath-absent-silence.<p>

"What is it, Zara?" She asked as she propped herself up on her elbows, her softly glowing eyes fixed on me.

I stood frozen for a moment, staring at her face, before looking away. It was much harder like this, lying to her face.

Why did deceit feel so much lighter, when you did not have to see the one you were deceiving?

Ahh, maybe it was fear, again. The fear of being found out. The fear of their reaction, knowing they were betrayed. The fear of the consequences of such a risk.

The fear of succeeding in your lies.

"I…" I murmured, still not looking at her. "I…I…"

_I can't sleep. I'm exhausted. I'm weak. I'm powerless. I can't breathe for you, I can't live for you, I can't protect you. I'm being eaten alive, I'm trying, but I can't, I can't, I can't…_

"Can you not sleep?" Zalle asked as she rubbed at the back of her neck with her middle and index finger and the heel of her palm. I swallowed thickly, clenching and unclenching my fits, and nodded. She sighed, very quietly, and when I glanced up again, she was moving to the other side of her bed.

"Come to bed, Zarry." She said softly, laying back down on her side, the vacated space left open for me.

I hesitated a moment, and she grunted at me. Biting my lip, I moved slowly onto the bed and pulled the covers over me, holding my breath as I listened to Zalle's.

She grunted again, louder, this one displeased, and then her arm snaked out and wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer to her, so that our bodies just touched, so much like she used to, in those first few days. I stiffened, but relaxed slowly as her hand rose to brush over my arm in slow, light strokes.

"Do you want me to sing, Zarry?" She whispered next to me. I paused, thought about it through the haze in my head, and nodded, timidly. Zalle hadn't had to sing me to sleep since those first gruesome days, when I'd been too panicked, too confused—before she'd come to comfort me—to sleep myself, crying constantly, or screaming though the nights and days.

"Just close your eyes…" She whispered in my ear as she propped herself up enough to draw a proper breath.

"_Child of the Blood,_

_Child of the Blood,_

_Sleep now, in the night._

_Rest until Sun's first light._

_Save your strength for the fight._"

Zalle began softly, crooning the patriotic lyrics to the contrastingly gentle tune. The sound-spooked vibrations in her chest tickled my shoulder where we touched.

"_Child of the Blood,_

_Child of the Blood,_

_With the breaking dawn,_

_Shall come their demise._

_When you wake,_

_Shall come their demise._"

Her voice was high and light, and caught in her throat from an unfamiliarity brought by disuse in this particular activity, but it was beautiful still.

"_Child of the Blood,_

_Child of the Blood,_

_Young one bathed in shining glory,_

_Red resplendent banner's story,_

_For your people you shall fight,_

_For the Sun come morning._

_Child of the Blood,_

_Child of the Blood,_

_Rest now through the night,_

_Until morning light,_

_And by the Light of the Sun,_

_Shall you stand in victory._"

Slowly, I closed my eyes, and succumbed to the crushing weight that had been pressing down inside my head for days, feeling very, very safe, very, very warm, and very, very sad.

_I'm sorry I can't be all right, Zalle. But if I can, I'll make sure you are._

We slept.

* * *

><p>"Zalle! Zara! <em>Doral'ana diel, <em>my dears?" Jovia greeted us cheerily, her slim arms slung wide in an invitation of embrace. I laughed, feeling better than I had in almost two weeks, and hugged her briefly. She gave me one tight squeeze around my middle before fluttering over to Zalle and doing much the same with a small squeal.

"We're well, Jovia. And you? You're awfully jubilant today." I questioned teasingly as we walked down the darkened, luminescent blue halls of her inn, muted chatter filtering through them from ahead.

"Oh, come now, dear! I can't spoil the surprise! You'll just have to wait like everyone else!" Jovia sang, her white teeth flashing, her steps bordering on dance.

I cast a look to Zalle, one eyebrow quirked in amusement. She smirked back.

We entered the common room and were greeted by several ladies wearing cheery faces and bright colors, all pearly teeth, vibrant hair, sweet smiles, and exposed skin. My gaze flitted from one to another, seated in the great-backed, cushioned gold chairs around decadent tables laden with fruit and meat and wine.

Sylann, her auburn hair loose and clinging to her shoulders, stood adjacent to Andra, looking as superiorly pomp as always. Deynna, her reddish hair pulled back, her robes an intricate mix of oranges, yellows, and blacks I envied, sat close to Lyna, in her phosphorescent pink layers. Galana, with her brown hair done up almost identically to both Deynna's and Lyna's, sat to their left, with Feynna, her tanned face in its seemingly permanent scowl, at her side. At a second table, Darise, the most richly dressed of us all in her black silken skirt and gold-embroidered, violet shirt, her wild silvery hair held back by a jeweled band, reclined regally over two chairs. Quelis, the only male present, stood with a certain lazy arrogance to Darise's left—he wore his usual mix of garb, his sleek, buttery golden locks fluffed at the bangs to frame his face, with the rest pulled over his shoulder in a slim tail.

All in all, we were a bit of a motley bunch, as far as our interests went, but we all had a love of fine things, good wine, and gossip that had nothing to do with war or Scourge or politics. We were all friends—some more so than others—even if none of us acted the part all too often.

"Zara! Zalle! It's about time you two showed up. Jovia's been insisting we wait for you, and I for one am tired of watching her bounce about like a love-mad rabbit." Galana sneered, her little nose crinkling. Their attention diverted from less juicy topics, the others turned to us as well, Deynna murmuring her agreement. She and Galana were such kindred spirits…

"Oh, so terribly sorry, Gal. Zarry just needed a bit of rest, the poor thing, so I let her sleep."

"Says the woman who couldn't be bothered to get out of the bath for the better half of the morning." I countered, making a face at her.

"Well, at least I look like I have. You don't get hair this silky with a quick dip in the river, you know."

"Ladies, ladies," Quelis broke in, "Look, you've both looking as lovely as always, _believe me, _but let's save it for another time, yes? I want to hear what's got Jovia's ears all curled."

"Yes, yes! Tell us already, woman! What did you invite us all over for?" Lyna cried, waving her bejeweled hands anxiously as Zalle and I sat.

Jovia stood in front of everyone, about a foot form the tables, biting her full lips, her eyes shining with pent-up excitement. She fidgeted as all eyes focused on her, bodies leaning forward and breath held, until finally she seemed to burst, hopping up and down in place, a large smile consuming her face. She held up her left hand, and in the light of the glowing crystal chandeliers, diamonds flashed.

She wore a sparkling ring on her finger.

Squeals erupted from the assembled, my own included. I flew from the chair I'd been seated in for only seconds, several other colorful bodies streaking the air beside me as we clumsily clashed in a strangling embrace. Joyful laughter filled the room, and as our small huddle of bodies swayed unsteadily, I saw Jovia's wide, laughing smile and teary eyes as she tried her best to return the hug to all of us at once.

Finally, we overexcited ones fell back, and allowed for our calmer or more indolent fellows to offer their own endearments.

When all the initial enthusiasm had settled, we all sat around the two tables again, small smiles and smirks unceasing on our lips.

"So…? Come now, Jovia, tell us! Is it that one you've been seeing these past few months? The one from Falconwing? How'd she do it? Details!" Darise asked, her high, husky voice so bubbly I almost didn't recognize it.

A faint flush crawled over Jovia's cheekbones, but she seemed more eager than bashful.

"Yes, the one from Falconwing. Delaniel. It was really quite sweet…first she took me on a stroll through the city, and we had a picnic in the gardens. Then she took me to see Gloaming—and she's doing lovely, by the way—where she'd arranged for a Dragonhawk ride for the two of us at sundown. While we were up in the air with all the reds and golds in the sky, she told me her love for me burned brighter than the Sun and asked for my hand…"

She trailed off amidst a small chorus of '_Awww's_ and some adoring titters. Quelis was rubbing his smooth chin thoughtfully, an almost wistfully look in his eye as he sighed.

"If only a could meet a man with such romantic sensibilities…" He bemoaned, and the other ladies nodded in agreement. "You and Zara are lucky, Jovia. At least you've got someone. The rest of us are just wilting away."

"Oh, come now, Quelis-dear! You'll find someone eventually. It's just that all your strong, witty types are off throwing fire around for the Horde's armies. You've nothing left to pick from but the drunks, invalids, paupers, and those who's boots you could only dream of licking." Jovia replied saucily.

"And why is it that you've a partner then, hmm? Oh, silly me, you've given me the answer already! It must be because Delaniel isn't very choosy. Nothing left to pick form, as you say."

"Choosy? _Choosy? _At least I've got a _partner _as you've put it! Tell me Quelis, how long has it been since you've so much as been tou—"

"Alright! Zara! Why don't you tell us how Sathren proposed? I can't seem to recall the story for the life of me." Feynna, bless her extreme impatience with arguing, interrupted before things could go any further. Not that I appreciated the change of topic specifically…

With our small, agitated group's attention focused on me, I steeled myself for what was sure to be a tiring tale if I wasn't soon rescued. I doubted downplaying things would get me anywhere with these people, but I wouldn't shirk the possibility…The reality was just far too extravagant, even if I had loved every second of it.

"It 'twas nothing spectacular. He simply asked for Zalle's permission, which was actually very charming, if you ask me, and then he asked me for my hand. It was just any other day—no glorious plans or baubles. Simple, really."

"Oh, be straight with them Zarry! They could use a good tale!" Zalle laughed, nudging me, before addressing the group. "She's dampening the whole thing horribly. It's barely true."

"Don't hold back on us, Zara! I told you my tale." Jovia admonished, finally ceasing in her attempt to smite Quelis by glaring at him from the corner of her eye.

"Aye. I for one would like to hear the _whole _thing." Andra purred, her look pointedly barbed, a mocking smile curling her lips, and I resisted the urge to light her skirts afire.

"Fine." I muttered, under fire from all sides. Zalle was such a traitor. I rubbed my temples. "He waited until my birthday; then that day, he gave me this gorgeous, red Embersilk gown and a single red rose. He told me he got it because it reminded him of the one I'd been looking at over at Keelen's when we first met. He had me wear it, and he took me out for the day. The whole time, we'd be seeing these little things we would recognize—something that would remind us of time spent together before, or something we both found special. The first shop we walked through was a winery, and had a special display of cherry grog—on our first real outing, he'd bought us a little bushel of cherries to share. The next shop was Rahein's, and Sath spent a long time admiring the daggers on display—the second time we went out, Zalle followed us and nearly lopped Sathren's ear off with her belt dagger. He's still got the scar.

We went to the Court of the Sun after that, to the Enchanters and Jewelers over that way, and he gave me a Dragon's Eye necklace," I paused to lightly touch the very pendant at my collar, indicating it. "That went with when he'd once joked I was as fierce and beautiful as a dragon, and it become an endearingly annoying nickname. I protested all the gifts, but he just winked and said it was payment for all the times he'd..._interrupted _my sewing. Anyways, after that we went out past Shepherd's Gate and we walked to Stillwhisper Pond; on the way there, Sath stopped to pick lots of Bloodthistle, and made me a crown of them, saying it went with my dress. When we got to the pond, Zalle was there, waiting for us, and there were red roses _everywhere_. Just as night fell, Zalle set off the fireworks; red and orange and gold and pink blooms of fire...Sathren took my hand, got down on one knee, pointed at Zalle, and said, 'I fought off one dragon to claim another one's heart. So, marry me'. Then Zalle broke out wine, and when I asked how she was allowing any of this, Sath showed me the 'Z' practically carved into his back—apparently, they'd literally _fought _for me. And then I accepted and we all went home and had to work our fingers to the bone to pay off the whole fiasco, nice as it was."

They stared at me in disbelief. I sighed. Zalle was grinning like the demon she was next to me.

"And this was _how _long ago?" Sylann asked after a silent moment. I grit my teeth.

"Nineteen months."

"_What?_" Jovia screeched, standing in a flourish from where she'd been sitting for the remainder of the story. "The man did all that and _you're not even married yet?_" The other women looked scandalized, even Andra, though Quelis appeared almost betrayed, as if I'd committed a grievous crime against him.

Oh, yes. I'd probably just murdered all his romantic notions. Shame…

"It's complicated." I grumbled, waving an indifferent hand and hoping they'd leave me alone. I felt better yes, but I was still incredibly sleep-deprived. An extra aching head wasn't needed.

"'Complicated'? How complicated can it be? You're in love, he proposed—wonderfully—so you get married. The end. You don't wait nearly two years!" Lyna snapped, her pretty, pouty mouth jutting out.

I turned a glare on my sister. "See what you've done?" I hissed at her. She shrugged her shoulders in an uncaring apology.

"Okay, okay. Let's just settle for complicated." Zalle said airily. "If my dear sister and near brother can't be bothered, it is theirs to deal with. I for one want to hear about your wedding plans, Jovia. And when I should be expecting my invitation."

Again, their curiosity and attention was whisked away. I paused for just a moment to examine the chill of spiteful contempt that shot down my spine at their callousness. Hadn't they been so enraptured a moment ago? And before that, with the previous topic? Were their attention spans that short, that easily tempted, or did they simply wish not to think on any one thing too long in some sort of willful ignorance?

But then I too was focusing on Jovia in preparation for her musings, so much prettier than my other thoughts, and there was no place for my contempt but my gold-rimmed mirror on its stand at home…

Ahh, the woes of hypocrisy.

"Well, unlike _some_ people," She began, knowing all of us knew who 'some people' were. "Delaniel and I want to be wed within the fortnight. She's coming up from Falconwing the day after tomorrow, and we're sending out invitations the day after that—and yes, you're all invited."

"Who all else is to go?" Galanna asked. Not much was expected, really, other than friends and acquaintances, and Jovia had already invited most of hers in us. Some family, perchance, but that…that wasn't so expected.

Most people didn't still have family to speak of. Most people didn't have even three members of their family left, never mind their father, their mother, their uncle, their aunt, their grandfather, or grandmother. A brother, or sister, maybe—those were more likely; and cousins, too.

The fact was simple: most husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters had gone off to fight a bloody war, for the Horde, or against demons, or Scourge. After four, five years of awful conflict, there were enough dead to smother the living with their rent bodies and angered souls.

But no one would say it. Not out loud, not like that. We could…and perhaps, we should…but we wouldn't. We wouldn't, because it hurt too much to do so, and we, we petty things, were no such ones for such pain. Not Jovia, or Galanna, or Deynna, or Lyna, or Andra, or Sylann, or Feyanna, or Darise, or Quelis, or Zalle, or I.

"Some of Delaniel's fellows from Falconwing and Sunstrider Isle and Farstrider Square. And, well…" Jovia trailed off, her airy countenance darkening with something like worry.

I cast a glance at Zalle, then looked back to Jovia.

"Well…?" I asked in a soft tone, and the Innkeeper's face warred between businesslike and vulnerable.

"Dela has a cousin, the last of her family, yes? He's the adventuring sort, a Hunter, I think. He lives at Farstrider, but…his last letter was almost three weeks ago, saying he was going on a hunt. She sent word to him, but hasn't heard back. She wants to go searching for him, but…"

_But._

"Well, he's likely off skinning pelts and racking up a good bit of game." Darise said with a confidence I found almost cruel.

"Couldn't she send some sellsword? It can't be too difficult." Andra offered, sniffing delicately in mild distaste. Jovia snorted.

"With this market? Even if we had the gold to pay with our wedding so close, whom would we send? All the adventurers have gone tramping off into the wilds and the wars. We'd be hiring a lying thief at best."

"Oh, come now. I'm sure the lad's fine." Lyna murmured in her musical tone. "Just push him out of your minds and think of your happiness while you have it."

"I have to agree, love." Quelis shrugged one shoulder. "You're right, no one decent is left to find him, even if you could hire. It's simple as—"

"I'll go." The words, so even and sure, slipped out of my mouth before I even knew what I was saying. The impulse to speak, to overrule all that had been said, had been so strong it was madness. But there those words were, and there their stares were, and still, I felt not a twinge of unease.

Perhaps my mind had broken?

"_What?_" Jovia gasped, almost the same instant that Zalle did. I eyed Zalle a moment, and then fixed a level stare on Jovia.

"You heard me quite well. I said, 'I'll go'. I'll search for her cousin."

The disbelief was so palpable, I likely could have sliced it with my pelt knife.

"You…you're going to find him? _You?_ How?" Galanna cried. I squared my shoulders.

"Yes. I. Will. Go. Find. Him. I'm capable. I _am _a Mage, you know." And just to prove my point, I held out my hand, palm up, swiveling my fingers in a graceful gesture, and invoked a bright, dancing blaze within their cage. Zalle recoiled as if slapped, before jumping to her feet so violently I flinched.

"_No._" She snarled, livid. "Absolutely not. You will not set a foot outside this city, _Zara Netherdawn!_"

"_Zalle!_" I gasped, both frightened at furious at her objection. "I will very well do as I like, sister! You are not my jailer, nor my lord! I am going after Delaniel's missing cousin, and I am going this very night!"

"It is not a concern of what I am!" Zalle seethed, her eyes burning with a furious flare of anger and deep smolders of worry and fear. "The last time you went off alone on some courageous fool's errand, I found you with your head broken open and your mind bled dry!"

"Don't you bring up my accident, Zalle! That's what it was! An _accident! _I am more than able of fending of any foes I'd find today! Don't you doubt me, Zalle, don't you dare!"

"Doubt you? _Doubt _you? To the pits of Hell with that, Zara! _Anar'alah! _You think I care if you can fight? I don't! You're not strong enough, and that is _that. _You will stay right here in Silvermoon with me, and you'll forget this whole event! Do you understand me, Zara? _Do you_?"

I opened and closed my mouth several times, responses and obscenities dead on my lips even as they were born. Finally, I clenched my jaw, and glared coldly at my sister. I whipped around to face Jovia.

"What's his name? Delaniel's cousin—what be his name, and where last was he headed?"

Jovia spluttered a moment, still shocked and unnerved by our intimate argument as the others surely were, but seemed to recover somewhat as she gave herself a shake.

"Ahh…Malrior. His name is Malrior. He said he was headed south, towards the coasts, and that he would continue on to the Ghostlands if he found nothing."

"Very well then. Tell your betrothed I'll have her word of her cousin by your wedding day, bright or grim.

"Ah-ahh! Zara! W-what about pay?" Jovia stammered, half reaching out a hand for me. I gave her a take smile.

"No need. I'll return soon." With a nod to her and a lavish bow to my other acquaintances, I turned stiffly and strode down the hall and out the door without another look at my sister.

She did not follow.

* * *

><p>I did not see Zalle again in the following hours as I went back home, packed a small, red silken backpack with provisions and linen bandages, changed into a sturdier, pleated robe and trousers, and collected a small sum of silver from 's. I did not see her when I went through each room in the house, chastising myself for wanting to see it all again as if this were the last time I would, which it wasn't, but doing it anyway, nor when I lingered in her room and sat awhile on her bed. I did not see Zalle as I left the house, locking the door behind me, and started down the Walk of the Elders, toward the Shepherd's Gate. I did not Zalle her when I passed by the guards there, resplendent in their red and gold.<p>

But I did see her when she rose from one of the ornately beautiful benches that lined the gardened pathway outside. She looked tired, with her face drawn like it was.

She stood quietly as I walked slowly up to her, stopping in front of her, our eyes, mirror pools of luminescent, burnished moss, level with each other's. We just paused there, staring into familiar orbs, saying not a word, though Zalle parted her lips several times as if meaning to open her mouth and speak.

"…_Zara._" She whispered, and I shivered.

"_Zalle._" I murmured back. She licked her lips, her sure fingers prodding at the edge of her silver ring.

"Zara…I…I…" She breathed deeply, and her blank expression fell away to reveal the concern etched so deep it was like carved stone. "Don't get hurt. Don't try too hard. Be careful, and be sure to eat and drink plenty, and don't fight if you don't have to...and don't...don't..."

I reached out and wrapped my arms around her slim torso, and her own shot up to latch onto my back, her hold tight and pained. She pressed her cheek to mine, and it grew damp with the tears streaming down her face.

"Don't leave me here alone, Zara." Zalle said, her voice soft and choked.

She was not pleading with me. She was not asking me not to go.

She was extracting a promise that I would return.

"I'll never let you go, Zalle. We'll be all right; you and I'll be safe and sound, you'll see.

And then I pulled back, caught her gaze, and smiled at her, a genuine smile, even more powerful than the feigned ones I'd so naïvely called magic all those years ago.

No, this, _this_ was magic.

Because this time, neither of us was wishing for the other to be well. This time, we were both promising that, for the other, we _would_ be.

When I walked away from Silvermoon, alone, and off to Light-knows-where for the first time in almost thirty years, I was not thinking of the terrors of my sleep, and perhaps, my past, or of the troubles that I may encounter on this small, but momentous little outing.

I was thinking of my smiling sister and the promise I would not break.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I assume some of you might be thrown for a loop with that last bit, the thirty years thing. Well, Blood Elves reach maturity at around 60 (or, by some references, 110) years old, and are middle aged by 175. If you recall, Zalle says she is 142 in the last chapter. So Zara thinks that she's basically around 120 or so, and that she had her accident 30 years ago. That's the belf perspective here. In reality, Zara is around 400-ish, so she's fairly old for a Dragon, almost a wyrm. She fled 30 years ago and yadda yadda.  
>As for how all this spans out...well, to make it easier to understand, just imagine this in people years or something, lol. Idk. I think I might be confusing you more. Anyways...<p>

So! Zalle and Zara's song is offically _Safe and Sound _by Taylor Swift (ft. The Civil Wars). I highly, HIGHLY suggest (**demand.**) you go listen to it. Really helps you feel for them xD

Let's see...what else...Oh! The lullaby. Yeah, originally a poem for this story, I tried to style it like the Lamenent of the Highborn. Zara and it belong to me, the rest, not so much. x'D

As for the little gathering...yes the proposals were incredibly cheesey and stupid. I don't know. I was bs-ing it. But just fyi, all the people mentioned except Delaniel's cousin are actual NPCs. Have fun looking around for them in Silvermoon.

Alright, I've talked enough, lol. Review, please, if you feel so inclind-which you do! :D (Oh, and wish me luck. Me and my guildies are doing the Ironman Challenge)

Translations:

_Anar'alah_- By the light.  
><em>Doral'ana diel<em>- How fare you?


End file.
